Living with regret isn’t easy

Emily asked me a question the other day and it caught me by surprise. “Daddy, what would you do differently if you were able to do it again?” I am not typically a person who hopes to change the past. Instead, I try and focus on making amends and changing the future. I gave Emily a half-assed answer to the affect that although I often wish that things were different, there wasn’t anything that I could think of that I would have done differently. Emily, wanted to share her answer to the question and stated that she wished that she had spent more time with mummy and that she hadn’t fought with her so much. That she had been a better daughter. My heart caught in my throat.

One of the conversations that Kelly and I had on the morning of her passing had a similar theme. When the realization set in that the end was very near, Kelly told me that had she known that this would be the outcome, that she would have done things differently. At the time, it felt like the conversation was one that we might come back to. There wasn’t an opportunity to go into any great detail on the day. I think that Kelly was referring to her treatment plan but there might have been more. I have subsequently thought that given the chance again, that maybe we should have just taken some time off, to go and check-off the things on Kelly’s bucket list. To spend more quality time as a family for her benefit. That could have possibly been a better experience to that which we went through in her final months.

Emily and I had her conversation again a couple of days later. It was obviously something that has been weighing on her mind. It’s hard to re-assure a child that they don’t need to feel a certain way, that their mom loved them regardless. That they were the most precious thing in her world and that they don’t need to feel any guilt or regret. The best I could do was to re-assure Emily that she was entitled to her feelings and that she could always talk to me about them if she wished. That her mom loved her and wouldn’t want her to experience any angst in terms of their relationship. She seemed ok with that for the most part but I don’t think that it made her feelings go away. That might take a little time.

I would have liked to talk to Kelly again about what exactly it was that she meant, should she have been able to ‘do things differently.’ It is a question that I will never really know the answer to. I can try and guess at what she meant but it would all be theory. The lesson is that we have to think hard about our choices as we only get one opportunity. For now, I will do my best to help Emily not get too caught up in the regrets. To acknowledge them but rather concentrate on the positive memories and experiences. Hopefully that helps in the long run.

Understanding the complexity of 50/50

Ethan and I had a conversation in the car home from parkour. I forget what triggered the discussion, but we started talking about how he felt about the day that mummy died. As he has got older and his vocabulary has grown, it has been fascinating to get a deeper insight into his emotions and views on the topic. In this case, he explained that he was ’50/50′ in terms of it being a sad day and a happy day. “Happy?” I thought. That is an interesting emotion to refer to under the circumstance. I had to probe a little further.

“It was a sad day because it was the day Mummy died!”. The look on Ethan’s face showed that this should have been obvious. “Yes, of course” I said, “but why were you happy?”. “Well,” he started, “because after that I met Ada*”. (Ada is the children’s au pair, and a person that has come to be of great assistance to the children and myself). “That makes perfect sense” I responded. “You probably wouldn’t have met Ada if mummy hadn’t passed away”. The discussion moved on and we continued the drive home.

Thinking about it later, I reflected that Ethan’s explanation was less about the day that mummy died, and more about his outlook on the scenario as a whole. To say it differently, it was a very sad life event, but Ethan does recognise some positives that have come from it. It is re-assuring to know this as it speaks to resilience. And resilience is a critical requirement for a longer-term healthy outcome. It is also good know that he likes the au pair…thankfully we made the right decision on that front too.

One year later and life has moved on. That thought alone makes me very sad when I think too hard on it. I keep reminding myself that we have to keep pressing forward. We have to choose to see the 50% that offers positivity and happiness. It helps me to think that we are not leaving Kelly behind. It is that we are bringing her with us in a different capacity. I think that the Kelly would have appreciated that.

*Ada is not the au pairs real name.

Today is not a normal Saturday

Kelly Bree

Today is not a normal Saturday
The reason being that you are gone
No longer around us, nor a part of us
Oh, how we miss how brightly your light had shone

Today is an anniversary for our family
The day that was chosen for you to pass
We will remember you and treasure it
although our happiness on this day will be sparce

We wish we could wrap our arms around you
To hug, and kiss and laugh!
Instead, we will settle for loving you
and do our best to stand fast

Your light continues to shine around us
From up there among the stars
It will guide and direct us forwards
as we heal and sooth our scars

(we love and miss you Kelly Bree)

The tree of lights

Tree of lights

One of things that our family looks forward to every year, is the putting up of the Christmas tree. For the kids, it is the start of the festive season and a symbol of the fun times and gifts to come. Kelly loved the delicate decorations and the joy and excitement created on behalf of the kids. I love the triggering of memories of the Christmases past. Both the memories I have shared with my existing family and also those of my childhood and the times spent with my parents and brother.

I had received a piece of paper in the post in the lead up to Christmas this year. A piece of paper I would have normally discarded as junk mail. For some reason, I took the time to read it. It was an invitation to the Tree of Lights ceremony. An opportunity to dedicate a light on a tree to the memory of a loved one. Once read, the invitation seemed fortuitous. Not only was it an opportunity to support the Tygerberg Hospice (an organisation and group of people that I now truly admire and respect), but it was also an opportunity to partake in a ‘Christmassy’ event that would hopefully be memorable to the kids in their future years. Another chance to come together and keep Kelly’s memory alive at a potentially difficult time of the year.

We attended the ceremony and found it to be a lovely event. It included a list of people who shared their own stories about cancer. Stories about survival, about loss, about helping others and about celebrating life. There was articulation and recognition for the great work that people do in palliative care. There was music and food. Most importantly, our attendance had a positive impact on the kids. Emily specifically was engrossed in the stories shared and came away with a deeper awareness of the fact that she is not alone. That other people have had experienced a deep loss and have therefore been on a similar journey to herself. Also, that cancer can be beaten and isn’t necessarily the death sentence that is so often feared. Ethan enjoyed the venue, the bagpipes and the hand-held lights that were handed out after.

The highlight of the event was the switching on of the ‘Tree of lights’. An opportunity for the symbolic lights of our lives to show a tree in all its glory. It was a fitting end to a lovely evening and one that we as a family will remember as we pass through this first Christmas with a special person missing. We left the event with a photo of our little family taken under the special tree. A little keepsake of the night that we remembered a special person who couldn’t put up her own tree of lights this Christmas.